Numb
by Maaya
Summary: A story about a victim.


Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or any of its character. Sarah, however, belongs to me.   
  
Warnings/Genres: oneshot, no pairing, original female character's POV, angst, PG  
  
Notes; I'm not sure where this came from, it jumped out of my brain a sunny Monday afternoon.   
  
***  
  
Numb by Maaya  
  
***  
  
They fight for freedom, they say. They fight to give the people of the colonies peace and freedom to say what they want to have said. To let that people do what they dream of doing. But why do the people of the earth have to suffer for it?  
  
I am not free.  
  
My soul is not in peace.  
  
And I can definitely not do what I dreamed of.  
  
The only thing the gundam pilots gave me was a prison in shape of my own body and a chair - a chair stuffed with cotton, but not enough to make it soft enough for my liking, and with two big wheels on the sides.  
  
I had a dream last night. I dreamt that I was walking on a beach, with warm sand that felt good against my bare feet. I walked and walked until I reached water and thought 'why not?' before stepping into the silky coolness. It was nice and felt good in the beginning – refreshing for my hot feet.  
  
But then it got colder. And colder.  
  
In the end, it was so cold I couldn't feel my feet or legs anymore.  
  
It was then I woke up.  
  
The water was gone, but not the numbness in my legs. That feeling of *not* feeling will never disappear.  
  
That is why I hate the gundam pilots. They took my freedom away.   
  
***  
  
"Sarah, want to join us in a game of poker?"  
  
I looked up from my notebook and fastened my eyes onto the girl's face. I recognized her from somewhere, maybe one of the classes? Not that it really mattered. "No."  
  
She pouted. Not that kind of pouting you does when you've cried or is really angry, no – not at all. This pout looked cutely disappointed and was probably designed to make the receiver guilty. But I refused to be affected and just lowered my head and pretended to ignore her, even though I was perfectly aware of how she glared at me.  
  
My hand held the pencil against the paper of the notebook and I waited, wishing her to go away, to leave me alone.  
  
"Well then." I heard her disdainful sniff. "Suit yourself." Her high heels tapped against the pavement and I looked up to scowl at her back before she disappeared around a corner. Then I leaned down and began to write again.  
  
***  
  
I lost my sister in the same way I lost my ability to walk – it left only numbness inside of me, a numbness that probably will be there forever.  
  
Do you know what scares me the most? It's that I haven't cried even once since the attack.  
  
I laughed.  
  
The doctors told me it wasn't a very usual reaction, hysteria can often be expressed through laughter and the tears would come if I gave them time. I never asked how long it would take though.   
  
***  
  
I hadn't realized how warm it was until I looked up from my notes and saw that it was past noon – the sun had moved and naturally also the shadows along with it.  
  
Had I missed any classes? I had been sitting there for hours . . . It finally dawned upon me that it was Saturday; we had the day off. I leaned back in my much hated chair with a breath of relief.  
  
The tree I had chosen to sit under was placed near the basketball court and now I suddenly heard laughter coming this way. Laughter from boys.  
  
Muttering curses lowly under my breath, I maneuvered the wheelchair back behind the tree so that the thick trunk and a couple of bushes did a good job of hiding me in shadows and I relaxed with the knowledge that they wouldn't be able to see me.  
  
I never did like boys very much. They tend to make fun of people, mainly those without any especially good features, and they are usually loud and obnoxious. Of course, I know that *all* of them can't be like that, those are just the ones you can clearly see through the crowds. Those who are actually nice, or don't feel any need to prove their 'masculine toughness' are usually quieter or even shy, and therefore hard to see. That's why I don't like boys.  
  
Of course, that is probably the way they think of us girls too.  
  
The voices and sounds of laughter increased in its volume and when I finally heard the sound of a ball bouncing against the asphalt, I knew the game had started.  
  
***  
  
The bitterest thing about the attack is the fact that the gundam aimed and hit the fabric we lived beside. We, the people who got caught in the attack -- (Which made MS by the way. It's not public knowledge, but it was where my father worked there and told us.)-- were just innocent victims.  
  
It's hard to explain what I feel, but our pain didn't mean a thing to the pilots. It didn't matter that out lives were ruined.  
  
That is bitter.   
  
***  
  
Something suddenly swished past my head and I bit down on a startled yelp – whatever it was, it had been only inches from hitting my right ear.  
  
When the shock lost some of its edge, I found myself staring at where a basketball had disappeared under a large rose-bush with white flowers on their way to wither. Great. Now someone would come and fetch it, and find me instead.  
  
"Aw, man! Where did it go?"  
  
"That way, I think."  
  
"Did you have to throw it *that* high, Danny?"  
  
"Don't look at me, it was Maxwell who--"  
  
Bright laughter cut off the friendly banter and a voice I guessed belonged to Maxwell called out. "Don't worry guys, I'll get it."  
  
Sigh. Just what I was afraid of. I tucked my pencil and notebook under my right leg and decided to get the hell out of there. My hands automatically went down to push at the wheels, but nothing happened.  
  
I tried again. And again. It took a while before I realized what had happened – one of the wheels were stuck behind a large root of the tree and because of its angle, I would have to turn around ninety degrees to get away from it. Unfortunately, the tree was in the way for me to do just that. Just my luck – how had I ever managed to get into this position in the first place?  
  
I sat there (what else) and tinkered with the wheels, trying to go forwards, then backward, when Maxwell suddenly appeared, making me want to cry in pure frustration. He didn't seem to see me though, because he went straight past me and stood with his back to me, looking around for a short moment to see where the ball was.  
  
It took him a while to find the bush, mostly because the ball itself wasn't visible. Its ruffled appearance however, made it quite clear that something large had fallen into it. He cursed and sat down in font of the bush.  
  
Suddenly, I recognized him, or rather the long chestnut braid that trailed his spine all way down to his shorts-clad butt. He was one of the exchange students who had arrived yesterday – I had him in one of my classes. Loudmouthed was a good way of describing him, right after annoying of course. But I think I was the only one who thought that however, because he was already one of the most popular in school.  
  
It was quite amusing to watch his attempts to get the ball without scratching his arms on the many thorns in the bush.  
  
First, he tried to stick his whole arm into it, but it came out as empty as before, and covered in red lacerations. "Damn." He muttered to himself before trying again, this time with both arms. He was as unsuccessful as earlier.  
  
"Oh well . . . here we go . . . " And with that, he got onto his hands and knees and began to crawl heads first into the large bush, letting out small shouts of pain every time a thorn hit an unfortunate body part.  
  
A dry snicker rose in my throat, but I bit down on it, not wishing to betray my presence. After a while, he emerged again, grimacing, wincing and hissing in pain, with several thorns in his skin as well as braid. But he had the ball.  
  
I really couldn't help those dry words that escaped my throat when I saw him. "You look like a crossover between a hedgehog and a kicked, longhaired puppy."  
  
"Aiiey!" He yelped in surprise and almost fell back onto the rosebush as he got to his feet. He looked around wildly until he spotted me, still hidden in the shadows. "Sarah McLain?"  
  
It was my turn to be surprised. "How do you know my name?"  
  
He opened his mouth, then closed it again a couple of times, clearly hesitating with what he was going to say. When he did answer, he sounded rather pitying. Ugh – I hate pity.  
  
"You're quite famous for being . . . a hard headed female in the school."  
  
I was impressed, but not very surprised. "Nice." I stated dryly and began to fiddle with the wheels of the chair again, attempting to dismiss him. He didn't seem to get it, because he trotted up to me, ball nonchalantly stuck under his left arm.  
  
"Need help with that?" He asked and nodded towards the wheel that was stuck.  
  
"No." I ground out and fiddled with the wheel until I broke a nail. He just stood there, staring at me.  
  
"The rumours are right, you *are* hard headed." He stated and joined me in the shadows. I took a good look at his face now when I wasn't blinded by sunlight, and noted that he was handsome. How annoying.  
  
"And you are too talkative." I told him in the same matter-of-fact-voice he had used. For some reason, he seemed to find this amusing.  
  
"You act exactly like a friend of mine." He laughed. "I get that a lot from him."  
  
"Well, it's true." I defended myself and grabbed the wheels again. "Out of my way."  
  
He sobered and didn't answer, but he moved and that was enough for me. I tried to make the chair move again, but was unsuccessful.  
  
Suddenly, they gave away so quickly I almost fell forwards and was inches from hurting my fingers. I let go of the wheels in haste. The strange thing was that they continued to move even after that.  
  
I turned my head and snarled. "I believe I told you I didn't want any help!"  
  
Maxwell let go of my chair with a shrug. "But you certainly *needed* it. It wouldn't be good if you sat here until people began looking for you."  
  
"Who would want to look for me?" I bit out, sounding far more bitter than intended. "A bitch in a wheelchair?"  
  
I snapped my mouth shut and refused to look at him. He didn't say anything either, and the silence was almost deafening after my loud outburst.  
  
"You." He said at length, sounding far more serious than before. "If you would just be a little friendlier, you'd probably be better liked."  
  
I looked up at him, but he was busy with picking thorns out of his arm, quiet again. We stayed quiet again and I thought about his words. Friendlier? Did I really want friends? I'm not sure. Something I knew, however, was that I wanted people to care about me.  
  
After a moment, we both lifted our eyes and our eyes met. His had a strange shade of violet, something in the back of my mind noted.  
  
"It's not any of those peoples fault for whatever happened to you."  
  
He must have noticed the scars in my face since he assumed something had happened.  
  
"It was a gundam." I offered, just as quiet as he had.  
  
He stiffened and his face . . . hardened. I don't know how else to describe it as I just stared at him stupidly.  
  
"Gotta go." He said after another moment of quiet and turned, disappearing through the bushes, out of my sight. After a while so did I hear the ball's bouncing against the asphalt again and along with that also laughter from the boys.  
  
I found myself wondering if Maxwell was among them.  
  
***  
  
The End  
  
*** 


End file.
